


Milestones: Vol. I & II

by wwe-charlie (alcrevier)



Series: An Uncharted Collection [2]
Category: World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: A Bundle of Emotions, Angst, But Trust Me When I Say:, F/F, Fluff, Heartbreak, I'll Make Sure To Leave You Happy, Romance, We've Got:
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-20
Updated: 2019-10-19
Packaged: 2020-07-09 10:33:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 16,825
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19886158
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alcrevier/pseuds/wwe-charlie
Summary: A collection of both Charlynch and Baysha one-shots following the events of my Uncharted AU: The Risk of Making Amends. [Main story based on: "Uncharted: A Thief's End"]





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi there! 
> 
> It's been a bit since I posted, right? Feels like it's been eons since we finished The Risk of Making Amends. Yeet. 
> 
> I'll talk more after the chapter (I'll give you the whole heads-up on this little series, and whatever else), but I won't keep you long from reading this first one.
> 
> So, have fun!

VOLUME I . . . STEP 1

* * *

FOUR DAYS SINCE THE ISLAND

* * *

The sound of a hollow knock is lost in their ears. Muffled by the white-noise of a waterfall. A synthetic waterfall, that is.

It’s colored by bright blue water, tinted either by dye or products to keep it less green while customers advance along the pirate-themed golf-course. And, when they first saw it, Sasha smirked at the theme of the attraction while facing the brunette. In turn, Bayley snickered. They knew it wouldn’t be “legitimately” pirate-themed. Not like they knew pirates, by then.

Still, it fit the bill for their date night. A night being punctuated by an evening round of mini-golf while settling into their full stomachs from a nearby, ocean-side eatery ━ thanking every higher power that the course is virtually empty, so they can go at their own speed. Earlier, before that, once they settled between the walls of their quaint, “on the beach” cottage ━ courtesy of Sasha’s connections to various clients in Massachusetts ━ they’d walked along their private strip of beach in long-sleeves and capris, luckily both of which were packed for their trip to Madagascar, in the first place.

Initially, they’d planned on hanging around on the beach for their first day here. Just a handful of hours after arriving so they could settle in for the night, unpack, lounge around, and conjure up this type of day for tomorrow. 

The weather had other plans, unfortunately. It’s been gloomy for most of their arrival, partly during their drive to get here from the airport, as well. In fact, it all lulled Sasha to sleep in the passenger’s seat against her wishes to stay awake and keep the navigator company as she drove. Bayley didn’t mind, of course. In fact, she smiled at the mercenary’s soft snoozing from next to her. It kept her comfortable, and provided her a piece of information that Sasha is overall safe with her. She loves being that source of security for someone so volatile, so tactful in her own right. She loves being the person who softens the purple-haired woman, even against Sasha’s desire. 

So, as they advance to the next hole ━ most of the previous being won by Bayley ━ the two walk side by side with casual discussion. Not much of it, no, but enough to keep them remembering how they’ve settled since the dangerous aspects of Avery’s island. Their adrenaline remains crashing, and their minds are catching up to what could possibly be their new normal.

Together. 

Approaching the ten hole, they catch sight of two, modeled pirates with bandanas and eye-patches. The stereotypical sense of piracy with bushy, black beards and gold-hooped earrings dangling from either side of them. Missing teeth, to boot.

This time, Bayley huffs. A sign of faux insult that gets Sasha’s attention, the brunette all but pouting at the minor sense of annoyance directed at the fantasy aspect surrounding them. Like it’s offensive to what they’ve been through, what they’ve dealt with and narrowly escaped from. 

Sasha quirks an eyebrow, Bayley noticing.

“What?” the navigator drops her orange golf ball onto the mat to tee off. “Now, they’re just being silly. Black beards? Eye-patches? Puh- _lease,”_ she makes a funny face, hitting the ball down the stretch. 

Her partner chuckles while watching.

“Yeah, it’s a real shame they didn’t have Avery’s number so they could ask for decorating and fashion tips.”

The other woman’s back straightens, the brunette not yet turning to her.

“I hear your sarcasm, and it hurts,” her eyebrows raise. “I’m just saying it could be a little more realistic,” the tone of her voice turns a tinge squeaky with the defense, moving away from the mat so Sasha can take her turn.

“We can ask for our money back,” there’s a smirk on her face as she advances, doing the same as Bayley did a second ago in dropping her ball to the rubber, teeing-off mat.

A tiny sigh exits the brunette’s nostrils. She shakes her head, eyes wandering the course and noting the various ━ _exaggerated_ ━ pirate themes. The netting, the fake ships, the “look-out” towers, the giant skull in the center of it all. Likewise, she tastes the mist of the contaminated waterfalls and scrunches her nose, having to shake her head free of the annoyed thoughts before turning back to Sasha who waits for her to take her turn.

“No,” Bayley finally says while walking toward her ball ━ rolled into a sand trap, “it’s not their fault they’ve never been exposed to the _real_ pirate world.”

At that, a large smile gifts Sasha’s face. One that’s admirable, and lovable. Also a bit pointed, and suspicious. Bayley doesn’t notice it, at first. She’s too busy squinting her eyes, remembering that her ball rolled _away_ from the sand trap ━ A.K.A. Sasha did what she’s been doing for the majority of the course, knowing she can’t beat the brunette, but can instead make it harder for her to win easily. So, the mercenary purposely knocked her partner’s ball into the trap. _Typical,_ Bayley thinks. 

As the brunette shakes her head, Sasha voices her thoughts.

“Sounds like someone’s become a little high-and-mighty after her first adventure,” the smirk on her face doesn’t fade, not even when she’s turned to with a see-through grin. “Is it finally sinking in?”

Bayley puffs out her cheeks, eyebrows raising. 

“Kind of, actually,” the confession is spoken with a shy smile.

Over the course of their time together post-island, she’s been having endless daydreams and reminders of what they’ve been through. The tediousness of the traps, the shooting, the danger, but overall the exhilaration of it. Part of her even misses the adventure of the island, and how it brought her together with someone as bold as Sasha. As it grows to become a distant memory instead of a present-day thing, a wistfulness grows in her heart. So maybe she won’t _forget_ the island, but she misses that immediate taste of the unknown. Despite its scariness ━ how it delivered her a gash on her leg that continues to scar, how it sliced against Sasha’s bicep to the point where she still wears a tie around it ━ she longs to see those tropical trees one last time. Those pirate ships. That globe chamber. Avery’s mansion. 

All of it.

At the same time, she wouldn’t trade this serenity with Sasha by her side for any of those aforementioned facets. She’s enjoying her time, whether or not her mind is finding difficulty with pacing itself. It’s just taking longer than she expected, quite frankly.

“Does it… usually take this long?”

Sasha notes the curiosity in her eyes. The genuine question, and wondering about whether or not she’s going about this correctly. Whether or not she’s defective, or childish about it. The mercenary smiles fondly, though it slowly drops from her face as she inhales some of the seaside air. 

“My first ‘adventure’ was Shambhala,” Sasha recalls, hearing Bayley putt her ball a tad further, “so… it was a little different.”

“Because of what happened with Charlotte?” a careful gaze flickers to her, but doesn’t stray.

“Mm, not necessarily,” she sighs, then bites her inner cheek. “The carnage is all the same to me, even if it became personal since I, admittedly, had some weird attachment to the idea of saving her.”

Bayley listens, not interrupting as Sasha leans on her club and stares into space.

The mercenary pauses, nodding to herself before continuing, “That place… it was, like… something you’d experience or dream-up if you were on mushrooms, or some kind of foreign drug.”

“What do you mean?” she keeps a tiny smile on her face, interested in the idea ━ as long as Sasha is willing to delve into those memories.

A second of thought is taken as Sasha emotionlessly shifts her jaw, then putts her navy ball into the hole. Bayley watches, unmoving, then turns her attention back to her partner. That’s when Sasha licks her lips, and psyches herself up to retelling a story she’s very seldom looked back on. _Purposely_ so. 

“Everything was colored blue and green,” it comes in a whisper, looking at Bayley before her eyes drift off. “Maybe grey, here and there, or pink flowers. But… it was almost a mash-up of a tranquil, Japanese garden, and some kind of intricate temple. The landscape was huge. Miles and miles of waterfalls, and bridges, and massive trees, and… _brightness._ Things were almost glowing, or radiating an odd energy. To the point of me being afraid to touch anything,” the mercenary admits, bashfully so. “It was… otherworldly.”

As reminiscent eyes bore into the green of the “grass” beneath their feet, Bayley listens while taking her shot. She sinks the ball, like Sasha, before they’re able to continue their conversation without interruption. 

“When we first stepped into the city beneath that giant, stone archway, I didn’t think I could continue,” Sasha says, a bit nervously. “I never told anyone that before,” a timid gaze lifts to Bayley’s, flashing her a half-smile that’s mirrored.

“Why haven’t you?”

“I never wanted anyone thinking something so indescribable could make me feel so weak,” it’s spoken with a sour laugh. “Me, a ruthless mercenary, afraid of something I can’t explain. It’s like when state officials or tough army-men claim they’ve seen a UFO,” her eyebrows raise.

“No one believes them,” Bayley finishes her thought.

She nods in confirmation, “It’s not that I care if they do or don’t believe me, but, on the other hand…”

“It still means you have some sort of weakness,” she concludes again. “Even worse that they can’t experience the same.”

A telling, sad smile changes Sasha’s demeanor.

“In this line of work, any weakness is a no-no.”

Her partner nods, watching Sasha walk past her so she can tee up her shot on the following hole.

“But you got through Shambhala,” Bayley offers optimism. “You stepped into it, you went through, and you’re here. Years later. With me.”

Sasha turns so they’re facing each other, smiling at the brunette who does the same. Then, she rolls her eyes with a dopey grin that she can’t seem to wipe from her face. 

“Mm, it was sure worth the anxiety,” she plays coy, making the other woman seal her lips. “I wish I had pictures of that place,” it’s muttered, stepping away so Bayley can hit her ball. “Even though, at the time, it was hard to digest, I would’ve loved to show you,” she gives the notion a childish grin, even without the navigator seeing. “Unfortunately,” a deep breath is taken, being looked at, “Shambhala was destroyed, and all that’s left are my memories of it.”

“Describe it to Becky and have her draw it,” it’s mostly a joke, but Bayley shrugs her shoulders as if it’s an actual proposal.

“No way,” Sasha laughs, smiling big. “It’s…” there’s a pause. “I don’t talk about it with just anyone.”

“The whole idea of Shambhala?”

“Yeah,” she gives her a similar half-smile to before. “The only other person I’ve talked to about it was Charlotte, but she was there. We went through such shit together, so it’s kinda unavoidable.” 

“What about with me?”

The question invites hesitation, but not in a bad way. It’s more so an indicator of how close they’ve gotten, so easily and so rapidly. Bayley gradually smiles when she sees Sasha’s mouth fall open, like she was bound to say something immediately but it’d fallen from her mind. Then, the mercenary can’t help but shake her head and grin like a love-struck teenager. It seems she’ll be doing that quite often, with the brunette in front of her. 

“It’s not unavoidable with you,” after a handful of seconds, she gives Bayley the endearing whisper, “but I still don’t want to avoid it.”

“And why not?”

Now, there’s a smirk on her face. A knowing smirk, aware that she keeps asking endless questions to pester Sasha into peeling back her harder layers. The mercenary knows what she’s doing, too. It warrants an eye-roll this time. Then, she opts to be honest. It’s not a hard decision to be honest, either. Not anymore.

“Because it’s easy to talk to you,” she smiles shyly. “About everything.”

“Good,” a similar grin appears, “‘cause I love listening.”

Her cheesiness earns a snicker from Sasha. As their heavy, unspoken conversation within extreme eye contact dies down, as Bayley turns away to take her next shot, she’s continuously watched. And, _shit,_ Sasha can’t stop smiling at the woman who knows what buttons to push and when.

But, unlike every other time in her life, she doesn't want to stop smiling. 

_Not anymore._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, I've missed them so much.
> 
> Anyway, I hope you've read the dinosaur of a multi-chapter before tending to this collection of one-shots, or else you may be a bit confused. Alas, you may be a rebel and go about things your own way, and, in that case, welcome!
> 
> Either way, hello everybody. I'm back with the promised series of one-shots. Now, I'll forewarn you immediately: I'm not going to have any updating schedule for this. I have no idea when the next one will be out, or if I have the attention span to write everything I've come up with. Lately, my anxiety has taken over and I'm busy battling that (as well as I have so many ideas in my head that I'm going insane), so I'm focusing on whatever I can, in that moment. It's always a mystery with how I'll feel for the day ahead. HOWEVER! I wanted to get this first one out because, like I said, I've missed them.
> 
> What I *can* tell you is that, since we left Baysha when they were pretty much starting out with their relationship, whereas Charlynch is a bit more solid as it stands... we'll be working on Baysha first. I was going to do it by flip-flopping between the two pairings per update, but it didn't work out that way. I'll be going within a certain time-line (as you can tell by the "[#] days since the island" stamp at the beginning), and the majority of Baysha one-shots just so happened to fall within the earlier time-frame. If all goes to plan, I have a lot going for both couples, though. I promise. 
> 
> As always, I posted my Tumblr below ("wwe-charlie") or you can find me on Twitter ("@wwecharlie_"). Thanks for coming back (if you read the initial multi-chapter), or thanks for joining (if you're new here)! Hope you enjoyed.


	2. Chapter 2

VOLUME I . . . STEP 2

* * *

FIVE DAYS SINCE THE ISLAND

* * *

It’s quiet.

Unnecessarily quiet.

A quiet that’s unlike any other quiet they’ve dealt with while together. A quiet that’s lasted for the past thirty minutes or so, and, before that, came in waves like the ocean laid out in front of them. A quiet that’s derailed all relationship momentum that’s lead to this moment, like last night’s date that ended in a few cliché, “good night” kisses and cuddling while watching a random movie. A quiet that’s _worrisome,_ frankly. 

And she’s apparently not the only one who’s noticed. Judging by the way Sasha takes in a large, random breath, at least. 

They face the ocean as they sit together on a beach blanket, enjoying the sunny day to the best of their ability while no one bothers them. Thankfully, something they’ve noticed is that their stretch of beach is quite vast. It allows them plenty of privacy for this miniature, “get to know each other” getaway. At the same time, however, it makes for awkward moments that are brought about by silences like these. These odd-placed, quiet moments that result from the littlest tendencies, and━ 

“Should I go put on a shirt so you’ll stop staring?”

Sasha’s voice is monotone as she looks out at the water, feeling stiff about Bayley’s eyes constantly on her. Constantly on her skin, on her complexion, but not in a good way. Not through attraction, or admiration, or even longing.

The brunette detects the coldness, feeling guilty. Feeling a sense of reservation about it, how she knows she’s the reason for that former quietude, and now for Sasha’s irritation. 

Admittedly, her eyes have been fixated on the other woman. More specifically: her back, shoulders, and torso full of scars. A few on her legs, too, but paling in comparison to the jagged, raised remnants of battles of the past. They’re unignorable, one stretching up to seven inches in length, looking like spreading roots and winding vines. A giant lightning bolt, diagonal against her spine. Others are thicker, yet smaller. Rounded, in ways. Bayley almost wonders if they’re healed bullet holes. 

All of them are even more eye-catching than the graze across her bicep from when they were on the island, still in the process of healing to the point of Sasha keeping a bandana over it for this beach trip ━ a shoddy precaution against the salty water.

Bayley swallows hard. She bows her head.

“I’m sorry,” the whisper is hoarse yet sincere. “I didn’t mean…” she hesitates, ending her apology prematurely.

“It’s okay,” Sasha offers. “I get it.”

“I’m not judging you, if that’s what you think━”

“No, I know you wouldn’t,” the mercenary cuts in with a softness, licking her lips in thought. “I don’t think you ever would,” for a split second, she glances at Bayley who sits beside her. “I know you’re curious, though.”

The other woman nods, “Kind of.”

Silence, but Bayley senses her partner’s apprehension. Sasha ducks her head, mouth opening like she’s bound to say something before it falls flat. In the end, her eyes are left boring into the sand in front of her feet. In front of her bent legs, close enough to hug to her chest if she’d like. 

“You don’t have to tell me,” the brunette gives her the alternative. “I’m okay with wondering,” a cheeky smile is flashed at the mercenary’s temple. “It’s not my business, anyway.”

“I want it to be your business,” Sasha jumps to say, partially surprising the navigator whose eyes light up. “I mean… I want to be open with you,” she speaks carefully. “I want you to know my past, even if I don’t love it. After all, it _did_ make me into who I am.”

The end of her statement comes through a sigh. Meanwhile, she stretches her arms backwards so she can relax atop their beach blanket. The muscles of her stomach shining from the afternoon sun, currently hiding behind a thin layer of clouds. Her face peppered with patches of sweat, though not much. Bayley knows she appears the same amount of sun-kissed, feeling the weather’s effects against her skin uncovered by her two-piece bathing suit. Unlike yesterday’s gloomy appeal, Cape Cod’s been hit with plenty of heat today. While it’s desired, it’s also merciless against their skin. It reminds Bayley of back home, actually. Not enough to want to go back, though.

“Okay,” the brunette takes a second or two longer to respond, mimicking the other woman’s position by leaning back slowly, “tell me, then. Who are you really, Sasha Banks? What can these scars tell me?”

The purple-haired woman snickers at her choice of words ━ the way her voice deepens for dramatic effect ━ before she thinks to herself. She has no idea where to begin her seemingly endless stories, and she’s not sure how far into depth she should go. Not when there’s so much, and they know so little about one another, otherwise. Who’s to say she won’t scare Bayley off with a single story, deep or not. No one can assure her of that, except for the brunette, herself. Sasha wouldn’t hide her true self, though. She knows better than that. In the end, it’ll always be Bayley’s choice. That’s perhaps the most terrifying part about being honest.

She puffs out her cheeks.

“A lot,” her eyebrows raise. “For starters, I’ve probably earned more during my days of helping my father and grandfather than I have as a mercenary.”

“Really?” 

The look of genuine surprise on the navigator’s face causes Sasha’s eyebrows to furrow in curiosity.

“Yeah, why?”

“I… don’t know,” the initial response is iffy. “Being a mercenary always seemed like a do-or-die thing, twenty-four-seven. Like, a lone-wolf type of concept. Putting yourself on the frontlines, no matter what. Working _alongside_ people for militias, you have acquaintances,” Bayley says without thinking twice, feeling as though she’s ranting on a subject she knows very little about ━ so, she backtracks. “Don’t you?”

“I’d hardly call them that,” a sigh exits Sasha’s nostrils, again leaning forward to expose more of her back ━ something that gets Bayley’s attention. “If you point to a scar on my back, nine out of ten times it’ll be from one of those ‘acquaintances.’” 

Bayley seals her lips, letting the quiet stir between them ━ less than before, less volatile, but still noticeable. For a moment, she wonders if Sasha meant it. If she wants to explain her bottomless stories, or if she was speaking hypothetically. She’s not positive if the mercenary trusts her to that point, yet. Not totally, at least. Still, with the curve of the woman’s back being displayed closely, Bayley feels she should take some sort of chance. A deeper risk, ready to get to know possibly the worst parts of the mercenary. The parts she couldn’t control, or didn’t want to. The most twisted recollections pent-up within a physical impairment. A blemish, speaking volumes. 

Carefully, she reaches forward with two fingers. Her hand shaking, though determined to press those fingers to the first scar. As she feels Sasha’s smooth skin for the first time, Bayley has to swallow the lump in her throat and focus her shaking fingertips. A harsh outcome of so many secondhand nerves and grievances for the woman sat almost in front of her now. She wonders what happened, and how the scar came about. Especially as her fingers drag along the first blemish: a crescent-shaped divot near the woman’s right shoulder blade. 

In front of her, Sasha inhales sharply. Feeling the two fingers keep still in place. A plain indication of which scar she wants to learn about first, even more so implied in the way Bayley then removes her fingers. Waiting in silence behind her partner.

“Stabbed with a screwdriver in the garage,” Sasha’s voice is monotone, almost unbothered by the flash of memory that sparks behind her eyes.

“Acquaintance?”

“Coworker. Wouldn’t call them much of an acquaintance, but I guess you can classify them as the same,” she partly peers over her shoulder, seeing shy eyes staring back at her.

The same, curious gaze shifts to the next, being only two inches below the former. This scar is a solid slash, two inches in length but wider in the middle. Dark, too. Perhaps the darkest. Bayley guesses that it’s deeper than the majority, just from the look of its menacing state.

She gently lays three fingers on its surface. Brushing the pads of her fingers along its length and feeling Sasha shudder beneath her touch. The mercenary’s body stiffens entirely, her head even turning as if she’s trying to recoil into herself. Her pain is evident, and the brunette feels a pang of remorse.

“Sorry,” Bayley whispers, retracting her hand.

“It’s not you,” the reply is smooth, honest. “That _was_ an acquaintance. Actually, he was more than that.”

The navigator waits, feeling the air churn. Sasha shifts her jaw from what Bayley can see, but her thoughts are derailed by the mercenary’s following whisper.

“My ex-boyfriend.”

Her heart falls into her stomach, Bayley bowing her head. Guilt quickly consumes her.

“The scar’s worse than the memories, trust me,” Sasha tries to comfort her partner. “Don’t worry about that, Bay.”

“It’s still terrible.”

“Yeah.”

The agreement is calm, coolly, and almost passive ━ something that both relieves Bayley and causes her to likewise question Sasha’s mindset ━ but it’s not extended as she faces the ocean another time.

Behind her, Bayley is hesitant to start again, but she pushes herself to. Her thumb drags downwards against Sasha’s left side, seeing another line ━ this one thinner, a tad longer, yet pale in color ━ being practically straight, vertically so. Almost like an incision, yet not. Bayley’s eyes raise as she feels Sasha reliving whatever memory it brings, this one pensive. Until she chuckles.

“What’s so funny?” the brunette can’t help but smirk in confusion, keeping her fingers against soft skin ━ a personal indulgence, not wanting to retract her hand this time.

“That’s from a chain-link fence,” the mercenary laughs again. “Doubt we can call that an acquaintance, huh?”

“No, I wouldn’t,” Bayley shares in the humor. “What’d you do?”

“I was young and stupid,” Sasha continues to snicker. “My parents were always such hard-asses, so I’d run around with a rough crowd. Kind of makes sense considering my personality,” she makes a face, feeling Bayley’s fingers tickling the same scar. “One day, we were trespassing in the woods somewhere behind the neighborhood, and we didn’t know there was a fence blockade around this guy’s shed. He found us and was saying he’s calling the cops, so we booked it,” another laugh breaks her story. “When we got to the fence, we knew we were screwed unless we jumped it. To no one’s surprise, I was shorter than everyone else.”

The other woman snorts, Sasha rolling her eyes and reaching to hug her knees to her chest. Above them, they see seagulls fly westward while cawing. A breeze follows, and the mercenary sighs. 

“As I jumped over, I hardly cleared the wired tips. My mid-back dragged downwards against the chain as I fell down on the other side,” she explains. “It was the stupidest, yet funniest moment of my life. It’s even funnier now, knowing how far I’ve come with my deception.”

Bayley laughs, proceeding to tickle her back. Soon, her lips seal. Sasha’s entertainment dies as she does the same. Except, in her case, it’s less out of bashfulness. Less out of sentiment, like Bayley’s blushing cheeks due to the intimacy of her traveling fingers, and more from the notion of knowing what comes next. She can already feel the brunette’s fingers trailing toward it. She dreads the oncoming conversation, the questions it’ll bring. Her throat swells, in the meantime.

Timid fingers pause before hitting the edge of the biggest scar on Sasha’s back. The seven-inch, jagged gash that looks gruesome, even if not deep. It looks painful, emotionally speaking. It looks complex, and heavy. She’s not even sure if she should ask, or if she should pretend it’s not there. Sasha isn’t telling her to stop, though. She’s not shaking, nor attempting to change the subject. She just sits there, still and quiet. Waiting.

Slowly, her fingers trace the first edge. That’s when she hears Sasha suck in a sharp breath. Bayley immediately pauses, but doesn’t hear a request that she stops. So, she continues. Her pointer finger drags along the first bend of the twisting scar. Then, the second. Another, sharp intake of air is almost gasped on, and Sasha slams her eyes shut. Even without seeing, Bayley detects her dismay. Her lips part at the excruciating, unspoken memory that can practically be seen doming over them. Creating a bubble of flash memories and things Sasha wishes she never had to experience.

“Sash? You okay?” Bayley asks. “We don’t have to━”

“I want to,” she cuts the other woman off, a tinge of bite in her words before she realizes. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to snap.”

Bayley shakes her head with a frown. A show of understanding that it’s difficult to fathom. Sasha chews her inner cheek, closing her eyes and taking a breath.

“I lost someone close to me,” the murmur is pained. “A car accident,” she swallows her already forming tears, water springing into her eyes as she bites the tip of her tongue to stifle it all. “The vehicle flipped off of the highway, down into the wooded area on the side of the road. It landed on the driver’s side.”

No response.

“I was riding shotgun,” she bows her head. “The door crunched inwards, before that, and it pinched my back. Severed it, kind of.”

Bayley’s heart stills, breaths shallow.

“Her and I were arguing before it happened,” Sasha’s face contorts in anger at herself. “I told her she was reckless, and that she was wasting her life on everything worthless. Alcohol, drugs, even going to strip clubs every weekend,” her head shakes slowly, incredulously. “I was never shy about making my opinions known. Hypocritical or not.”

The brunette glances at the scar, dragging her fingers across it. She wishes to lean forward and kiss it. A tender gesture to get Sasha through the memory without forcing her to speak it to its full capacity. Still, she remains attentive. 

“Turns out, even though she was fucked in many ways… she wasn’t the one who had such a problem that she’d put someone else’s life at risk. She always had that sense of caution about her, at the very least,” Sasha stresses. “The person who ran us off the road didn’t share in that caution.”

“A drunk driver?”

“No,” the whisper is frail, wistful. “The guy was high as a kite,” her voice is monotone, also fauxly uppity, as if she finds the whole situation darkly humorous. “He was hardly coherent when they pulled him from his wreck across the highway.”

The navigator shakes her head in quelled anger, “I don’t understand why people do it.”

“I don’t, either,” Sasha agrees. “I’ve done some stupid shit in my life. I’ve killed people, even if to protect myself and others,” she goes on a tangent. “But I’d _never_ put innocent people at risk. I couldn’t stomach that.”

Bayley nods to nothing in particular, now drawing patterns with her thumb against the woman’s lower back.

“I can’t tell you how many times I’ve heard the argument that driving high isn’t a risk,” broken eyes bore into the sand in front of their blanket. “That it’s not ‘as bad’ as driving drunk,” she scoffs. “Fuck those people. It’s not a competition of what’s worse. Just don’t do it. How hard is that?”

Again, her partner nods.

There’s a beat of silence that settles between them. Only filled in by the frothing of waves against the shore until the water is sucked back into the ocean. Seagulls caw in the distance, occasionally flying overhead, circling, before diving toward the water. 

In the meantime, Sasha is sucked into her memories. Into her thoughts. More than anything, she fights with the notion of being honest, and the conflict it could bring. The aforementioned dismay that Bayley could become fearful of her, or scared away, at any given moment. It still doesn’t erase the fact that the mercenary proclaimed that she’d be honest. She intends on keeping her silent promise to Bayley, no matter the cost. Part of her wants to be honest, anyway. Just to get her thoughts into the open, and to have someone to confide in. A peace of mind, after everything regarding the memory. 

So, she goes for it.

“Can I be honest about something scary?”

“Mhm,” the navigator hums.

“Before that moment, never in my life had I wanted to kill someone so badly,” her voice is fractured, rawly sincere to the point of her head ducking. “I might’ve grown up on war, but I admit my heart was never in it,” she pauses. “That changed, at least for a while, because if I had the chance, I wouldn’t have given that guy a life sentence. I would’ve given him the opposite, and then some.”

Bayley brushes her knuckles against the scar, understanding. 

“What about now?”

There’s a spurt of hesitation, then her answer.

“Given the chance, I might still do it,” her attitude becomes reserved, the words borderline silent in fear that they’re _too_ honest. “That’s probably not what you wanted to hear, I know.”

“I wanted to hear the truth,” the other woman disagrees. “Doesn’t matter what, exactly, I wanted to hear, Sash. I’m glad you’re honest with me.”

The thought of her impeccable understanding causes Sasha’s eyes to slam shut. It causes her tears to stop being held back, to unleash themselves. Sliding down her cheeks, falling freely as her lower lip quivers. Her body tenses up, as well, shaking in quakes of clenching within. She tries her hardest to wire her jaw shut, to construct some sort of dam that’ll prevent herself from breaking down fully, but it doesn’t work. Nothing works. She knows it’s best to let it out, in the end.

“I don’t want to scare you away,” when she finally speaks, there’s a tremor breaking the quiet words until her lower lip quivers again and she has to trap it between her teeth.

Her partner hears a harsh sniffle. She also sees Sasha bring her hands up to her face to cover her eyes. To push the bottoms of her palms into her eye sockets, and attempt to stifle her cries. Sobbing, almost instantly, as if it counteracted the attempt. All like she’s been holding it in, but now can’t.

Tenderly, the brunette frowns while scooting her body closer. Turning it, and keeping her left leg bent. Almost pressing against Sasha’s lower back, trapping the woman between her legs. Her chin moves to rest against the mercenary’s right shoulder, leaning her head into purple hair while moving closer to her skin. Hugging her, as her right arm wraps around the woman’s chest and her left hand scratches at her bare shoulder.

The intimacy grants another sniffle from Sasha, bowing her head even more.

“You’d never scare me away,” Bayley whispers into her hair. “I can promise you that.”

No response. Sasha holds onto the brunette’s arm pressed against her chest, leaning her head slightly against Bayley’s.

“You deserve to hold hatred against that guy,” she states. “He did something unforgivable, and you lost out because of his stupidity. I’d want to kill him, too.”

Sasha wipes her eyes, trying to pull herself together as Bayley buries her face further into her hair. Despite the very few kisses they’d shared in recent days ━ approximately ten because, yes, she’s been counting ━ she gets the urge to lean closer. To press her lips to warm skin, just in hopes of providing a tad more physical comfort. A promise that she’s with Sasha, no matter what. 

With slow motions, she does just that. Bayley shifts an inch or two closer, moving her lips to the woman’s neck and kissing her there. Once, twice, three times. Each slow, and cautious. Each deliberate, and holding of its own sincerity. Then, she moves to her partner’s shoulder and does the same there. Three, elongated pecks gifted to her warm skin, ultimately resting her chin on the same area.

In front of her, she can tell the mercenary continues to calm down. Her breaths become deeper, yet less sporadic. More collected, and pulled together.

“Sash,” Bayley whispers, the other woman attempting to turn her head a bit more.

She’s held tightly, however, with her nails dragging across the navigator’s skin. Overall, she melts into the embrace, and her skin feels like fire from where Bayley kissed her.

“Hm?” she asks once Bayley doesn’t continue.

“I feel so safe with you.”

Her partner nearly looks confused by it. Eyes drifting off to the side, lips parting.

“I know you don’t believe me, yet, but you will,” Bayley confesses, eyes sparkling from what Sasha can see. “I know how much I mean to you.”

Sasha swallows hard.

“You do,” she admits. “You mean so much.”

Bayley pauses, then snuggles closer.

“Whatever dark side you think you have, it’s nothing in comparison to your actual character,” the brunette offers insight. “I’m not just being positive or optimistic or nice or whatever you think I always am because I _want_ to be,” Bayley’s eyebrows raise. “I’m telling you: you are _not_ fractured in any sense. Not to me.”

Her partner tries to nod, holding onto Bayley tighter. Until the brunette untangles them so she can move to the other woman’s hip. Parallel enough so they can turn their bodies slightly and look at each other. Sasha takes a moment to examine her features, face void of emotion. Bayley puts on a tiny smile, mutually studying the mercenary’s features.

“Do I really make you feel safe?” she asks, eyes doe-like and fragile.

“Do you want to?”

A frown comes, voice remaining quiet, “Of course I do.”

“Then, yes.”

Sasha silently questions it.

“You make me feel unbelievably safe because I know that you’re trying your hardest to be the best version of you,” Bayley explains. “Specifically _for_ me, in some cases. That’s more than comforting, Sash. That’s…” her throat grows sore. “I can’t thank you enough.”

A weak laugh responds.

“Why do I always feel like I’m chasing my tail, then?” Sasha’s eyes water again, but she blinks the tears away. “Every time I want to do better, or think more positively, I suck at it. I say something wrong, or I get angry,” her head bows. “That can’t be comforting to you.”

“Because I value honesty and dedication,” the navigator speaks as if it’s the most obvious thing. “You’re honest with me, and, like I said, I know you’re trying. No matter the result, or your frustrations, you’re trying. That means more than you know,” her voice grows quiet. “I’ve never had that.”

Sasha waits for something more.

“All my life, people have tried their hardest to hide their true colors from me because they figure I can’t handle it,” it’s breathed out. “I’m too soft, or they think I’m fragile, or that I’ll realize that the world isn’t as vibrant as I make it seem. They make my decisions for me, like I’m some child. You even did, at the beginning.”

The mercenary swallows hard.

“But, once you gave me a chance as much as I gave you one, things clicked,” there’s a smile on her face, gradually widening. “You started being honest, and you understood that I wasn’t some two-dimensional newbie. You didn’t make my decisions for me a second time, and you showed me your true colors.”

Her eyes drift off, attempting to comprehend and listen. Nevertheless, she has a difficult time.

“Those colors are so welcoming,” Bayley feels Sasha’s fingers drawing patterns on her thigh. “I thank you for giving me that chance to accept who you really are.”

Sasha looks up at her, hand stilling in place.

“Please continue letting me accept who you really are,” it’s pleading, coming through the same grin. “No matter how ‘scary’ you think that version of you is.”

Finally, she begins to nod.

“Okay.”

“Okay,” Bayley mimics it, smiling.

Little by little, Sasha begins to accept it. She begins believing the brunette’s words ━ not that it’s hard with how convincing she is ━ and her mouth curves into a similar grin. A tinge more shy, but decisive. Ready to listen, and grow from the experience of allowing Bayley into her life. She made a good choice, too. She knows it.

Over time, her eyes begin drifting to Bayley’s mouth. Something she’s done repeatedly ━ each of those ten instances ━ whenever she wishes to seal the gap between them. The brunette picks up on it, as well, doing the same.

Through no hesitation, she reaches to cup Sasha’s cheek. Slowly pulling her in for a kiss, connecting their lips with intention. 

At first, it’s soft. It’s gentle, and knowing. Each woman as careful as her counterpart as they recuperate from the past conversation and the memories that it brought about. However, after four pecks that turn elongated one after another, Sasha takes the reins by biting the brunette’s lower lip. Taking it between her teeth, tugging gently, and letting it pop back into place. A tactic she’d used twice before, a tactic that always proves the most deadly against the navigator’s attention span. 

When they break apart, their bodies relax for a moment. Reveling in the instance with their foreheads resting against each other. With their proximity intoxicating, Sasha has a hard time clamoring around in her mind for the right words. The words she’s wanted to say for minutes past, yet hasn’t had the chance to. Now, she does.

“You make me feel safe, too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope everyone's doing well!


	3. Chapter 3

VOLUME I . . . STEP 3

* * *

SEVEN DAYS SINCE THE ISLAND

* * *

Sasha worries at her lower lip. Nipping the skin there, chewing it, and releasing. Repeat.

It’s a habit she’s turned to whenever things feel awry, whenever she feels conflicted by a situation, decision, so forth.

Here is no different.

It’s been ten minutes since she’d been left alone on their cottage’s porch. Ten minutes since Bayley gave her a quiet “Be right back” and disappeared behind the old, rustic-looking door of their miniature vacation stay. Ten minutes since the initial, spur-the-moment firework was set off from their neighbor’s house, so abrupt that the brunette nearly jumped out of her skin and Sasha’s eyebrows raised at her obvious fright. 

So, it’s been ten minutes since the mercenary felt a pang of guilt and a mutual pang of understanding about why she jumped, and what they’ve recently been through. After enduring so much gunfire, so many explosions and traps and other ailments that they couldn’t control… there’s sure to be some mental scarring. Hell, even Sasha ━ someone who’d been raised on violence and exposure to shootings ━ had a hard time adjusting to that vicious life before it truly began for her. It was no walk in the park, and she had more nightmares than she’d care to admit. Endless nights of waking up to the sound of peppering bullets against her bedroom wall ━ so she thought ━ and likewise moments of daydreaming before being yanked out of those sweet recollections by someone slamming a book down onto the table. A few times, she’d had a miniature panic attack. Other times, she felt so numb that she couldn’t react at all.

Nowadays, it’s part of her daily life. Not that she’s proud of it, per se, but getting used to something can occasionally have its advantages. Then again, why would she _want_ to feel so unafflicted by gunshots?

She sighs through her nose. Shaking her head as multiple, red sparks fly into the sky and turn a purple hue against their indigo background. A soft smile graces her mouth, noting how beautiful the scene is. She’s always loved fireworks, if she’s being honest. It’s one of the few, common things she’s always admired. How wild they are, yet contained until released. How vibrant, and beautiful, and loud ━ yet people pay infinitely to catch even the smallest glimpse of a vast array.

Her head shakes again. An attempt at pulling herself out of her benign adoration for at least a moment. Long enough to turn her head toward the house and give the front door a slanted smile. All while imagining Bayley inside, either pacing or doing whatever-it-is to keep her mind off of the fireworks. 

That ends when there’s a bigger flourishing of the explosions. A compact number of booms, thrown together and acting like a miniature finale. Sasha knows it isn’t the end, though. For the amount of people who’ve turned out within the streets and along the further stretch of beach away from their private section, it’s clear that this happens often. It’s clear that it’s allowed, too, meaning that it won’t end anytime soon. Not when it just began. 

Casually, Sasha scratches at the porch chair’s arms while propping herself up. Pushing herself to her feet before getting some feeling back as she’d been relaxing with Bayley for quite some time in the same position. Once sturdy, her fingers reach for the door knob before hesitating. A wonder flashing through the mercenary’s mind, thinking about if she should disturb the brunette or leave her be. 

_Better safe than sorry,_ Sasha thinks before pushing the door open.

There, she’s surprised to see her partner sitting on the living room couch. Mere feet away from the front door, eyes boring into a black TV while perched on the very edge of the cushion.

Sasha frowns at Bayley’s motionless state. Then, the woman’s eyes flicker to her with her mouth opening. An act as if she’s been caught red-handed, or in a compromised position. As if she’s apologizing for something, too.

“Hey,” as she closes the door behind her, Sasha’s voice is soft. 

There’s a beat of silence, the mercenary locking them into the cottage before sauntering over to the couch and plopping herself next to the other woman. Her gaze bores into Bayley’s temple, getting a sheepish grin before the brunette bows her head. Simultaneously wringing her fingers together, gently so.

“Where’d you go?” Sasha asks with care, tilting her head to the side.

“I, um,” she clears her throat, “needed to get something.”

A tiny grin appears on the mercenary’s face, not buying it.

“And then you decided to sit down?”

Her partner’s mouth opens at the knowing look that Sasha gives her. A shaky laugh comes out, afterwards, as Bayley turns forward again. Sealing her lips tightly, and ducking her head again. Somewhat embarrassed, from what the other woman can tell. 

“It was the fireworks, wasn’t it?”

The brunette licks her lips, then exhales.

“I don’t want you thinking it was some kind of PTSD thing,” Bayley is honest, looking at her with shining eyes. “It wasn’t,” she shakes her head, turning away. “Just... they caught me off-guard, and it was a little jolt. Like, here I’m thinking all of the shooting’s over once we left the island, then I hear this sudden clap and I’m...” there’s a pause. “It was a second-guess moment. My mind shut down, just a little.” 

Sasha listens, nodding.

“I feel okay now,” her hand waves at the door. “Listening to them out there, I’m okay now that they’re continuous. It was just that starting bang that came without warning, you know?” she gives it a sour smile.

She hums in agreement, “I’d be surprised if they didn’t affect you at all, honestly.”

“Really?” 

“Mhm,” Sasha grins, albeit with a bittersweet feeling. “Reacting to it is normal. Dare I say healthy,” a quiet laugh stunts her explanation. “Being affected by things isn’t always bad, or traumatic. Just reminds you that you’re feeling.”

Her partner smiles at the insight, being genuine and legitimate. 

In the meantime, Sasha scoots closer along the couch and partly turns her body. She makes enough of an angle so she can be partially facing Bayley yet at her hip enough to lean her head on the brunette’s shoulder. Their arms loop, as well, and Sasha turns to kiss near the collar of her shirt. 

“Thanks for telling me,” the mercenary whispers, settling her cheek against Bayley’s shoulder. “You sure you’re okay now, though?” 

“Positive,” there’s a weak chuckle, more so stifled by the intimacy of Sasha’s movements. “We can even go back out, if you’d like.”

“I’m comfortable right here,” she looks up and grins.

When she doesn’t resume being comfortable against her shoulder, it’s clear that Sasha’s waiting for a kiss. Bayley can tell, watching her partner’s eyes dance between her gaze and her mouth. A common, Sasha tactic that she’s witnessed a handful more times since two days ago. In this case, despite the stirring nerves in her stomach, she smiles and leans in. Pecking her on the mouth once, twice, three times before Sasha backs up rather slowly, yet deliberately in a sense that she’s thinking about something. From the twist of her pursed lips, it’s less than optimistic. It’s more cautious, and tip-toeing around a subject she didn’t necessarily want to broach before.

“What is it?”

“Don’t think I’m implying anything when I ask this...” Sasha drawls, rubbing her lips together, “but are you sure you want to come back to Springfield with me?”

Bayley narrows her eyes, “Why wouldn’t I?”

She sighs through her nose, “Let’s just say it’s one of the worst cities in the country.”

No response.

“There’s at least one, local shooting per day,” the explanation comes with an eye-roll. “Violence and theft is everywhere, and... I don’t want you to put yourself through that just for me. I know we haven’t discussed how long you’re staying for, but even a day could be hazardous to your mind. I don’t want that.”

“That’s sweet, Sash, but _yes_ I still want to go back to Springfield with you,” she reaches for the mercenary’s fingers, entwining them happily. “It was just that one moment, like I said. I came in here to calm down, and I was going to go back out pretty soon.”

“You swear?”

“I told you that I feel safe with you,” Bayley flashes her a gentle grin. “I meant it. I know you protect me, and that’s all I need to know.”

Gradually, the smile is mirrored. An acceptance of the answer comes, too, when Sasha nods with a mouthed “Okay.”

“Now,” not wasting any time, the brunette scoots closer while smirking childishly, “how about you tell me just how much you want me to come home with you?”

Her cocky grin warrants another eye-roll, this one playful, with Sasha wishing to groan but not being able to when Bayley is so close. Not when their faces are inches away, and their skin touches repeatedly with a tickling sensation. Not when she wants to kiss her again, and again without stoppage for the rest of the night. 

“I guess a little bit.”

“You ‘guess’ a ‘little bit’?” she quirks an eyebrow. “Fine, maybe I won’t, then.”

“Oh, you’re _definitely_ coming.”

“I’m not so sure you want me there,” Bayley shrugs, releasing herself from Sasha’s grip and lounging backwards on the couch’s lone pillow. “Maybe I’ll ship you back, and I’ll stay here.”

“Shut up,” the mercenary laughs hard. “You wouldn’t do that. You’d miss me too much.”

“I guess a little bit,” the brunette mocks.

Sasha makes a face while sticking her tongue out, looking away.

“Not so funny when it’s directed at you, is it?”

“Alright, Softy,” she then pushes her tongue to her inner cheek, twisting her body so she can lean sideways next to Bayley, against the couch’s back, though nearly on top of her. “Maybe... I want you to come home with me... a lot.”

As she grows closer, Bayley’s smirk fades with their proximity lessening. Soon, she can hardly keep a smile on her face at all, though it remains in her lidded eyes until their noses brush. Bayley can feel Sasha’s breath on her, then the curve of her lips as her hand reaches for the mercenary’s waist. Fingertips lightly brushing against the loosened fabric of her tank-top, not holding onto her too tight, yet enough to keep her in place. Not wanting to make any sudden movements, either, despite the mental pleading with herself to simply pull Sasha flush against her. 

“‘Maybe’?” eventually, she finds the strength to ask, though her thoughts are borderline erased when she feels their lips graze each other, in the process. 

“Definitely,” Sasha murmurs, pressing a single, gentle kiss that’s hardly felt against Bayley’s mouth. “Why don’t you let me show you?” 

A fragmented laugh is heard between them, cut short by Sasha kissing her partner again. This time, it’s anything but soft and sweet. It’s less chaste, less halted and held back. This time, it’s more wanting, more intentional of pushing the boundaries. It’s more calculated based upon Bayley’s movements, and how her hand doesn’t simply linger against Sasha’s tank-top anymore. How it pulls her closer at the very instant their lips meet, just enough to exchange a mutual, heated desire. One that the mercenary preys upon within seconds of their mouths colliding. 

It’s unlike any kiss they’ve shared prior, and it’s overall telling. Bayley can taste it. Sasha can, too. The desire, the heat between them that builds faster with each time Sasha shifts an inch closer. Each time she pushes herself upwards so she can pin her partner to the couch cushions further. All to the point of finally lying on top of her, bodies firm together, with the brunette easing them more comfortably across the couch. 

Her hand grips at Sasha’s waist, nails scratching along the fabric covering her lower back until they glide upwards. A safety measure against allowing her eager hands to otherwise roam downwards, then beneath Sasha’s tank-top. _Not yet,_ Bayley tells herself. But, each time she moves anywhere, it extracts a shaky breath from the woman on top of her. Each time, Bayley does it again with a tiny smile disrupting their kiss. A simultaneous curiosity of what would happen if she _did_ push the boundaries and slip beneath the fabric of her tank-top. The sounds, the movements, the reactions… 

All curiosities are disrupted by the other woman. Abandoned as Bayley feels Sasha carefully maneuver her position, ending up straddling the body beneath her. That’s when the mercenary backs up, and her eyes glisten with a darker color that Bayley hasn’t seen before. That’s when she realizes, too, that there’s a wave of understanding between them. Something uncharted, something they haven’t felt before ━ or _done_ before. Something that _pleads_ with her to push those boundaries.

And, in Sasha’s next question, Bayley comprehends what she’s truly asking. What she’s requesting, and what she wants the most before any leaps or chances are taken, or decisions made. She wants consent. To know they’re on the same page, on the same terms, ready for whatever is bound to happen between them.

“You really feel safe with me, huh?” the mercenary doesn’t stray too far from the other woman’s mouth, but she escapes enough to look into her loving eyes. 

Tender fingers drag through brown hair, in the meantime. A sensual touch that Bayley loves as they’ve both come to know it together. From casually talking, to cuddling, to sharing interests, to kissing. She loves it all.

She stares at Sasha, the faintest grin curving her lips. 

“Yeah,” it’s spoken in all honesty, all monumental sentiment returned with her gaze sparkling. 

At her sheer sincerity, Sasha unintendedly lets out a shaky breath. Her response is another kiss, this one faster and deeper. More driven, and believing in her partner’s words. Ultimately, it’s the punctuation to that conversation, yet the start to another ━ unspoken or not. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm gonna say this per chapter, but I hope everyone's doing well! I also hope this little collection isn't moving *too slow* for your tastes. Obviously I'd like to update every day, but I'm really just leisure writing currently. Don't want to rush these fluffy (or otherwise) moments. No way. 
> 
> Thanks for giving them patience and your time, though. Always.


	4. Chapter 4

VOLUME I . . . STEP 4

* * *

TWO WEEKS SINCE THE ISLAND

* * *

“Here we are.”

Sasha’s voice chimes in Bayley’s ear as the mercenary’s foot pushes the apartment door open. An inviting sound on its own, as the brunette glances back at her girlfriend to smile at how content she looks. 

They both know it’s a fresh step they’re taking in their — recently defined — relationship, even if this is merely dubbed as a “visiting” period. Despite neither woman wanting to stray from the other, they haven’t wanted to voice the obvious desire of making this a permanent thing. It’s too soon, isn’t it? Standard society dictates that it’d be moving too fast. But how could you possibly find what you believe is your soulmate before leaving to fly across the country once more, and live like estranged lovers who could only FaceTime or text? If you had the opportunity, wouldn’t you stick together?

Bayley mouths a gentle “Okay” to herself before crossing over the threshold. Her hand gently pats the white door on the way by, stepping into the dark-paletted space. 

Admittedly, it’s different than she expected. With Sasha’s volatile lifestyle, yet her opposing personality when it comes to how they interact, she was sure it’d be evident within her decorating choices. Muted colors, yet bold decor. Perhaps the opposite: bold colors, yet seldom decor. Here, the brunette smiles as her eyes note everything new about her girlfriend’s life. The living room’s grey walls, chic furniture, yet the wooded, industrial tables and sleek television sitting across from the main couch. Fake plants line the area, and wooden shelving is scattered amongst the walls. Every now and then, there’s a colorful vase or random momento. An orange blanket thrown over the couch’s back. A pass-through into the kitchen, from what she can see. Then, a shortened hallway leading into a single bedroom, and another few doors presumably for the bathroom and a closet. 

Overall, the space is lit up by large windows that seem misplaced for the small apartment. They’re beautiful, however, looking constructed of crystal pane and iron spokes to hold it together. Reminding Bayley of what Sasha had told her on the ride back to Springfield: the complex had originally been built as a newspaper company’s home base, but eventually it was renovated into industrial-looking apartments. She was one of the few, lucky people to snatch up one of the expensive residences, the outside community being the safest portion of Springfield ━ even if it’s still, technically not “safe.”

“Different than you expected?”

The purple-haired woman smirks as she closes the door behind them, their bags pulled onto the rug centering the living room.

Bayley turns around, grinning big.

“Yeah, actually,” she laughs a tiny bit. “It’s a nice surprise, though.”

“What, you thought I was going to live in a dump?”

“That’s not━”

“I’m busting you, Bay,” Sasha beams, shaking her head. “I worked really hard on this place. For once, I wanted a home. Not just… somewhere to stay,” her hand waves vaguely. “It’s different than my old places of living, I’ll tell you that much.”

She nods, gaze roaming the area as the mercenary breathes out.

“Make yourself at home here,” a tiny smirk curves her lips as the navigator turns to her. “Stay for however long you’d like.”

There’s a mirrored shade of blush that passes between them, coming with both their eye contact and the overwhelming silence of the room. Again: it’s a new step they’re taking in their relationship, but a huge one, nonetheless. They both know it, and it’s weighing down on them quite easily. Still, Sasha can’t help but be ground down first by the moment’s vicious reminder. By what she said, too, about letting Bayley stay here for as long as she’d like. It’s something they hadn’t touched upon, nor even alluded to when discussing the brunette coming back to Springfield. 

She clears her throat and frees herself of the blush on her cheeks, bowing her head away from her girlfriend’s permanent stare before asking, “What?” with the shyest tone.

So shy, Bayley smiles big with a soft “Nothing” before shuffling away.

Sasha watches her pick up their bags without intention to lock eyes again. Not yet, anyway. She forcibly keeps her distance, treading into the bedroom and humming contently. There’s a thud where the bags drop, and the mercenary enters the room just as Bayley crawls onto the pillows and lies on her back. Taking up the whole bed, more specifically, and sinking into the comfortable mattress. 

“Mm, I’m not sure where _you’re_ sleeping.”

“Excuse me?” moving from the doorway, Sasha walks closer before putting her knees onto the mattress and lying down on top of her girlfriend. “I believe this is _my_ bed.”

“Not anymore. I stole it,” she pretends to sleep, raising her chin and closing her eyes away from Sasha’s scathing stare.

Except, in this case, it does the opposite effect in evading Sasha’s attention. Instead, the mercenary glances down at the positioning. At the exposal of Bayley’s neck, her skin begging to be toyed with. She smirks devilishly, leaning down to kiss her neck repeatedly while leading to behind the woman’s ear. A staggered breath is heard, a mixture of appraisal and a disgruntled reaction. Annoyed at the fact that she can’t pretend to ignore Sasha any longer. Once the mercenary backs up, she sees one of the brunette’s eyes open. Peeking at her, with a pout on her face.

“You’re lucky you’re cute,” giggling, Sasha shakes her head before pausing and raising her eyebrows. “No one else would get away with claiming my bed as theirs.”

Staring at the ceiling, her girlfriend smirks, “I’d hope not.”

Sasha’s smile turns fond, waiting for Bayley to look at her. Once she does, the mercenary wastes no time in capitalizing on the position. Brushing her thumb against the brunette’s cheek, kissing her gently, then gingerly tugging on her lover’s lower lip. It extracts another breath from the woman below her. One that stirs something within Sasha, reminding her of the various times they’d taken advantage of their private stay at Cape Cod. Reminding her of those various times where they went a multitude of rounds catching their breath, then wasting it once more. A couple of days during their two-week vacation, they had to stay in and recuperate against the pulsing ache. Nay: they _wanted_ to stay in and recuperate, but each instance proved to leave them open to falling into bed again. Neither complained.

Specific memories swirl within both of their minds. It doesn’t help remembering their current position, either. How Sasha lies on top of her lover, pressing her firmly into the soft comforter covering the bed. Begging them to slip beneath, and celebrate coming home to Sasha’s apartment together after the mercenary had set off on her own. _“Business as usual,”_ she had said while leaving. Then, today, she came home with quite possibly the love of her life. Even after two weeks, she has confidence in thinking that way. Sure, it may be scary, but something tells her that she’s right. This time, she’s right.

Nevertheless, Sasha breathes through her nostrils and kisses Bayley once more. A premature ending to the festivities she wishes they could dive into, though shouldn’t so soon. Not when they haven’t eaten in hours, and they’re both exhausted from the lulling ride home.

Shifting her weight off of the other woman, Sasha clears her throat a bit too forcibly. Bayley knows what she’s doing, snickering while they both sit up. 

“We should order some dinner before it gets too late,” the mercenary runs a hand through her hair, letting it fall messily back into place. “We just got home, and I don’t feel like making anything. I’m not even sure what we have here,” she huffs. “I’ll have to get some groceries tomorrow.”

“Can I come?”

The sudden, excitable request gets her attention. She quirks an eyebrow.

“You really want to come grocery shopping?”

“Hell yeah,” Bayley says as if it’s the most obvious thing. “You’re not a grocery-store person?”

“Bayley, I kill people for a living,” it’s monotone, deadpanning. 

“So?”

“So, that doesn’t exactly align with my personality.”

“Yet I do?” there’s a smugness in her question, leaning a fraction toward Sasha whose mouth falls open.

A laugh tumbles out, afterwards. Feeling caught off-guard by the immediate question, put on the spot by the brunette whose eyebrows raise as if she’s genuinely waiting for an answer ━ which she is. 

“Last I checked, you call me Softy,” Bayley smiles, verbally nudging her. “A bit too cheeky for your ‘killer’ tastes, I’d say.”

“You’re the exception,” a grin alters her expression, being playful until it’s erased when she kisses her girlfriend once more. “I’m going to find the menus.”

“Okay,” it’s whispered, the navigator humming as she watches Sasha leave the room.

It’s quiet once the mercenary walks out. Bayley takes her time observing the bedroom, noting its similarities to the living room. The walls are the same shade of grey, the TV is similar to the living room’s ━ smaller, however ━ and the “pops of color” are vibrant. There are multiple, smaller plants on the further end table from where she lies against the grey, patterned comforter, otherwise nothing… _personal._ No pictures, or certificates, or school things, or family objects. That’s the one thing Bayley has noticed, during her short time in Sasha’s apartment. 

While it doesn’t surprise her, it again reminds her that she’s one of the only people that the mercenary has opened up to. She’s one of the only people Sasha has trusted in a while, and dare she say one of the only pieces of home she’s had aside from the obvious: her apartment. 

She gives it a bittersweet smile. The expression is truncated when she realizes she’s yet to see the kitchen or rest of the apartment. Not to mention the fact that Sasha has been gone from the bedroom for a few minutes. More time than she’d expect when simply trying to find some food menus.

With a breath, she pushes herself from the bed and walks out of the room. It’s a single turn into the kitchen, rounding the corner of the living room before she’s met with the adjacent threshold. However, she stops in the doorway of the kitchen once she catches a glimpse of Sasha. More specifically: when she sees what the mercenary is doing, quietly so but as if she doesn’t want to mess up her motions.

Back turned to the kitchen’s entrance, Sasha holds the fragile, dying flower Bayley had given her on the island. In front of her, sprawled across the circular table is what appears to be a scrapbook. A leather-bound book of glossy pages, ready to be used but otherwise looking vacant. 

The brunette leans against the archway with a smile, admiring how caringly her girlfriend treats the flower. It reminds her of the mercenary’s insistence of keeping it alive, even two weeks after they’d left that island. 

In fact, the first thing she’d done on their Cape Cod vacation was slip it into a small glass of water. They both knew it wouldn’t revive what was already damaged within the flower, they both knew it wouldn’t save it, either, but Sasha was determined to make it last as long as she could. Once the water wasn’t anything close to a saving grace, once the dying of the vibrant flower was imminent, Sasha slid it into a small baggy. Something to preserve it, even when lifeless, to a vacuum-sealed point until she could get it somewhere permanent. 

Until she could get home, and apparently keep it in a scrapbook.

Bayley’s eyes water for a second. She blinks the tears away, then takes two steps onto the tile floor.

“You kill people for a living, huh?”

Sasha visually jumps at her voice. Then, as she shuts the book, she clenches her jaw and seals her lips before she can turn around with the guiltiest of expressions on her face. Bayley’s smile doesn’t cease, as she approaches. 

“This is part of the exception,” the whisper is shy ━ confident, but shy. 

“Mhm,” Bayley hums pointedly. “What’s this?” she wraps an arm around her girlfriend’s shoulders, looking down at the book’s now-closed cover.

“A scrapbook.”

No response. The navigator stares at it before opening the first page to find the pressed flower. It’s sealed tightly to the glossy material, but fastened securely for years to come. No longer is it the most vibrant, the most full of life or reminding of how gorgeous that island was, but it _does_ hold prominent memories. Those will never diminish. 

Even so, disregarding the flower, itself, everything else is blank.

“Not much of a scrapbook,” Bayley chuckles.

“Not yet,” her partner whispers. “I never had a reason to put anything in it. I never had good enough memories, or things I _wanted_ to remember. Now, I do,” she smiles at it. “Your flower just so happens to be the intro,” turning to Bayley, she hugs her tight before asking for a kiss.

One’s granted against her mouth, Bayley afterwards lingering close.

“Wow, you really _are_ a softy,” the brunette mutters.

“I believe I said that exact thing to _you.”_

Bayley rolls her eyes, “And now I’m saying it to you.”

“Fine,” Sasha sighs, “I am.”

“Are you still okay with that?”

There’s a pause, being full of smiles and a single eye-roll from the mercenary. However, as time ticks away on the nearby wall clock, a wave of reluctance and admission flows through. Sasha glances down at the book beside them, at that flower staring right back at her, and she knows she’s perfectly okay with that. _Beyond_ okay.

Her arms wrap tightly around her girlfriend’s torso, burying her head into her neck.

“Definitely,” she answers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi there!
> 
> Just an update on things: I've recently had a massive health issue that's made my progress on these very slowed-down. Luckily I had this one written for a bit, so I could get it out to you whenever I needed to. Little by little I'm going to start writing again, however the health issue I've encountered is extreme anxiety attacks -- attacks which I had to see the doctor for and be put on emergency medication (which basically knocks me out). Came outta nowhere, honestly, and I find it somewhat humorous since I was overall happy when it happened and then BOOM. Then again, I have an odd sense of humor.
> 
> Never fear, though. I'm still determined to get through this collection of one-shots if it kills me. But I must say that if you find any mistakes/typos in these, it's because my mind's been all over the place so it's hard to catch them all. Anyway, I hope otherwise it's all enjoyable. I love these pairings with my heart (and I always will).
> 
> Unrelated to this, but I'm personally stoked to see what a "The Man vs. The Boss" feud can bring on TV. So there's that.
> 
> Anyway, have a nice day/week/whatever until I see you again, friends.


	5. Chapter 5

VOLUME I . . . STEP 5

* * *

TWO WEEKS, ONE DAY SINCE THE ISLAND

* * *

Her eyes scan the lines of various items written upon the scrap piece of paper she’d thrown together on a whim. Their list of grocery products to get their “normal” home-lives started back up again after that hellacious trip to the island.

Initially, Sasha figured they could go light in terms of essentials. The cliché stuff like milk, eggs, chips or snacks. Whatever Bayley likes, additionally. That’s been a prominent thought in the mercenary’s mind. Though she’s never been one to overly snack on anything — she’s never had much down-time to do so — she wants to make the brunette feel comfortable to a T. So, anything Bayley has pointed out while shuffling alongside the cart that Sasha has pushed around, each item has ended up in the cart. Against the brunette’s lectures, however.

_“You don’t need to buy everything I like, Sash. I’m content with some cheese-puffs and fruit juice.”_

_“You’re a child,”_ Sasha laughed.

 _“You’re spoiling me like one,”_ her retort came with raised eyebrows, and the mercenary couldn’t deny it.

If there’s one thing she’s been looking forward to, it’s the chance to spoil the girl who wanders somewhere behind her. It’s been Sasha’s prime focus since they met, since she heard bits and pieces of the navigator’s story, and especially after the island’s dangerous grip. All she’s been looking forward to doing is taking her out on dates, curling up to her, catering to whatever she’d like. Admittedly, those desires even extend to bigger things. _Scarier_ things. Notions that include building a greater life together. A more committed one. A life where they move somewhere else, mutually sign a wad of papers to purchase a house or apartment or whatever, then… everything that could potentially come after.

And it’s a terrifying thought for the mercenary. Knowing that she left, weeks ago, thinking she’d be going on another life-or-death mission — one that would in all likelihood make her feel that usual post-shooting exhaustion — however she returned home feeling more alive than ever. More _whole_ than ever. Now, all she can think about is the future — in the _best_ way. No more worrying about her next, aberration of an adventure. No more worrying about what could happen if she simply agreed to a new “task of protection.” Sure, she still worries about Bayley — about keeping her safe, even if their activities are now mundane and pretty damn domestic — but otherwise Sasha’s thoughts are generally optimistic. Otherwise, she’s curious to see how their relationship will branch off. How it’ll work out, and blossom. 

She’s never had that before. She’s never been so in-tune with happiness and lighter thinking. She’s never anticipated something so pink-shaded, or soft, or tender. Hell, even in the exact present moment, she’s never grinned so hard while hearing Bayley humming — having a fun time — behind her. The brunette, wandering through the adjacent aisles while Sasha crosses another item off their list.

“Hey, Sash, look.”

The cute tone she uses earns an immediate snicker from the mercenary. She can tell that Bayley is amused by something, and she can practically hear a shade of smugness within.

She turns around.

There, feet away, pinched between Bayley’s left-hand fingers is a little, red plastic spoon — a “grab and go” item from a nearby bin in the miscellaneous aisle, sided with various other-colored utensils. In her right hand, an identical yet bigger spoon is held.

Once Sasha quirks an eyebrow, her girlfriend raises the smaller spoon.

“It’s you,” she beams.

The mercenary grunts with a shifting jaw. She should’ve known that was the insinuation. She should’ve known, right when she witnessed her girlfriend’s cocky grin ━ her triumphant facade ━ with those spoons pinched so intently between her fingers. 

Her tongue presses to her inner cheek as she offers a scoff when she turns her head away from the other woman. Hands on her hips, trying to ignore Bayley’s growing smirk. Then, Sasha relents and pushes their cart closer, stopping beside the brunette in the otherwise-empty aisle. 

“Okay, no,” the mercenary shakes her head with a laugh, “I’m at least either of them. I alternate.” 

“Mm, if I remember correctly, you’ve been the little spoon each night we’ve cuddled,” the rebuttal is smooth, prideful, before Sasha reaches behind her girlfriend’s frame.

“Let’s not forget that I can be one of these, too,” a green, plastic knife is presented, arching a daring eyebrow. “Now, are you done digging yourself into a hole with those spoons, or do you want to push your luck a little more?”

“What’re you gonna do?” the navigator tests her, smirking as she eases her face an inch closer. “What’re you gonna do, little spoon?” she pokes her with said spoon, then the other, with Sasha snickering before waving the plastic knife in her face.

“Sleep with one eye open, babe, and you’ll find out,” her uncanny attempt at threatening her girlfriend gets Bayley to tilt her head to the side with intent to dismiss the challenge. 

However, when no snappy response comes from the brunette, Sasha figures the conversation is over. Slowly, the knife is slipped back into the box of utensils, and her hands grasp at the cart’s bar to push it away. Her back is nearly turned, too, when Bayley finally regains her attention. A muttered, beneath-her-breath claim of “I’ll just see you happily in my arms, but━”

Her ongoing, “pushing her luck” ramble gets Sasha to spin around on her heel with wide eyes. An appearance of being ready to jokingly tell her off or flat-out jab at her sides so her girlfriend stops trying to poke at her buttons in public.

All intentions of getting back at the brunette are derailed when she twists around to come face to face with an older woman trying to squeeze past the couple. Instantly, the mercenary puts on a kind expression. Her lips seal, her cheeks round into an innocent smile, and her throat relaxes as she whispers a sweet “Sorry, here,” at which the older woman grins. 

In the meantime, as they listen to her footsteps disperse around the corner and into the next aisle, Bayley side-eyes Sasha who nibbles her lower lip to stifle her dwindling rant directed at the navigator. She huffs out a deep breath before it’s her turn to side-eye Bayley whose smirk begins to grow.

Until it disappears wholly when she’s caught off-guard by Sasha grunting, then kissing her hard. So deeply, so randomly and passionately that, when the mercenary shoves her backwards, Bayley nearly trips and falls onto her butt. She stumbles at the surprise force mixed with the initial shock of Sasha’s soft lips on hers, however shakes her head and snickers when she hears her girlfriend say, “I’m done with this conversation. I’ll be in the next aisle when you’re done being a child.”

She grins again, this time lovingly. It doesn’t last long as she regains her smirk, watching Sasha gliding the cart down the aisle until she’s at the very end. That’s when Bayley decides to get the last word in.

“Okay, little spoon!”

At the loud proclamation, she sees Sasha shake her head, followed by Bayley receiving a departing middle finger before her girlfriend disappears behind the end-cap.

Once again, Bayley smiles, seals her lips, then follows the one she loves. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Long time, no see. I swear, so much time has gotten away from me since I last posted/updated y'all on my life. So, I've come bearing this snippet of cuteness and another update on my life. 
> 
> It's no secret I've been somewhat lying low on social media (and on here) and that'll probably continue as I readjust to a new normal -- one that includes tinkering with medication I never thought I'd be on again. Likewise -- and in a way this is more optimistic -- I'm going back to school in October, which I also didn't think I'd ever be doing again. I'll be extending my degree in creative writing (hopefully) and from there the goal is to make people know my name. 
> 
> As for this collection of one-shots, I still have an unfinished outline or two for Baysha (so one or two more one-shots for them), then we'll be moving onto Charlynch. Again, I know I'm working at a snail's pace, but things are looking up. Little by little. Which reminds me: I apologize that I didn't answer any reviews for last chapter, but I promise that I read each and every one of them and y'all continue to encourage me to keep going. Thank you for that, and count on me answering this time around. 
> 
> For now, I hope everyone's been doing well, and I hope you're enjoying the on-screen 4HW story that's unfolding week by week. It's certainly going to be a ride.


	6. Chapter 6

VOLUME I . . . STEP 6

* * *

ONE MONTH SINCE THE ISLAND

* * *

_"Fuck.”_

The sound of the brunette’s content sigh is enough to make Sasha’s smirk reappear. Even with her wet lips repeatedly worshipping her girlfriend’s skin, they curve into the same deviousness that began this entire chain of events. The morning and afternoon snuggling in bed after a well-exercised night before, the lazy kisses that turned a bit more heated, the mercenary tugging on the other woman’s lip, and then that infamous grin that expressed what she’d like to do next. 

Really, Bayley should’ve known by the look on her face that Sasha was bound to continue last night’s festivities. Nothing could’ve prepared her for the overwhelming ecstasy, nonetheless.

Her breaths fill the air as her eyes struggle to remain open. Albeit, when they do, they tiredly bore into the smooth ceiling while subtle, open-mouthed kisses are graced against her tender skin. Her thighs, her inner hip, her lower stomach. All while Sasha continues on her path to rise back up so they’re face to face.

In the meantime, her underwear is slid back into place. An uncomfortable sensation, Bayley thinks as she wishes to rub her thighs together. There’s a remaining numbness in her body, however. A warm tingling that both winds and unwinds within her limbs. She can’t move as it persists. Frankly, she doesn’t want to. She can’t even usher her neck upwards to kiss Sasha as the woman finally brushes against her nose. 

“I owe you,” the statement is sighed out once more, being adored by a smug facade as prowling eyes note her exhausted features and the faint sweat on her forehead. 

“Can’t wait.”

The short reply is brushed against her mouth, willfully tasting herself once the mercenary kisses her firmly. A fresh, ignited feeling courses through her veins. One that delivers the necessary strength in order to regain a sense of reality, one that helps her push through the withstanding ache in her bones so she can return the favor sooner rather than later.

Much to Bayley’s distaste, when she attempts to kiss her girlfriend harder to the point of flipping their bodies over, when she’s ready to return that favor, she’s stopped with a stiff finger to her lips.

“Unfortunately, we’re gonna _have_ to wait,” Sasha shoots her a knowing look, especially when Bayley frowns. “I have some things to do down in the shop. They won’t take long, but I should get them over with.”

A puppy-dog pout is thrown in her direction, being Bayley’s go-to tactic that Sasha initially chuckles at. It’s tailed by a mirrored reaction, then a peck to the brunette’s cheek, a sweeter kiss to her neck, soon trailing behind her ear. Before the navigator’s hands can grab ahold of her, however, Sasha slinks out of bed and fixes her own, tangled shirt and shorts. Not long after, she’s sauntering out of the room to freshen up, leaving Bayley to pout to herself.

Left behind, Bayley is close to flopping back onto the pillows in mild annoyance. She’s close to relieving the tenderness in her muscles by resting them as much as she can during the intermission. Realistically, she doesn’t get the chance to. Not when her phone buzzes on the bedside table, signaling a new message. Immediately, her breathing stills and she bites the tip of her tongue between her teeth. A habit derived from nervousness, something she’s oftentimes used to stifle her own anxieties. 

Her teeth bite down harder when she sees who the text is from, too, unknowingly appearing void of emotion yet pensive as she stares at the phone clasped in her hand. 

“What’s up?” 

The mercenary’s voice is sweet, considerate. Also curious as she pulls a sweatshirt over a new tank-top, standing in the bedroom doorway.

“I…” Bayley’s mouth opens and closes. “It’s nothing.”

Her girlfriend’s eyes narrow in skepticism, her head likewise tilting to the side. She doesn’t lose her small grin, though.

“I’m pretty sure what I just did warrants a better answer than that,” her patented smirk appears. “Come on. Who’s that?”

“Um,” the navigator’s lips seal, “Carmella.”

“Carmella…?”

“I… work with her.”

There’s an oddness to the brunette’s voice, Sasha decides. It’s an oddness that makes her sound and appear guilty, furthermore evident in the way her gaze trails off to the side of the room before peering at Sasha through her eyelids. Similar to oneself being scared of a certain reaction, or being nervous about telling the complete truth.

Already, Sasha’s jaw hardens. 

“Okay,” inadvertently, a dark chuckle exits her throat during the pause, “that’s not the extent of it, is it?”

The other woman’s eyes close in a slow blink, followed by a heavy exhale.

“She’s also my ex.”

Her tongue presses to her inner cheek, arms crossing in the process. 

“Figures,” Sasha takes a deep breath to calm herself. “Why’s she texting you?” it’s a genuine question, though intended to hide her annoyance. 

There’s an expectant look on the mercenary’s face, waiting for an answer. Meanwhile, Bayley shifts her jaw a few times before rubbing her shoulder. She doesn’t make eye contact with her. Not for at least fifteen seconds. Sasha counts.

“Before I tell you━”

“Oh, that’s a good way to start off,” the incredulous statement is mused beneath her breath. 

“You need to know why we broke up.”

“Why?” she somewhat laughs. “No offense, but why does it matter?”

“Because I can already tell where your mind is going.”

“My mind’s just fine, Bay,” there’s a shade of hurt in her tone, also a side of arising irritation. “It’s just a text, isn’t it? I’m fine.”

The brunette tilts her head to the side, but Sasha doesn’t change her tune. 

“So, why did she text you?”

Here we go, Bayley thinks.

“Carmella’s kind of, like… my manager-in-training.”

“She’s _what?”_ Sasha almost barks out, her arms coming uncrossed with her shoulders slumping. “Were you ever going to tell me this?”

“I’m telling you now,” the defense is weak and she knows it, eyes widening. “This is the first time it’s come up. Otherwise, I would’ve beforehand!”

In the doorway, her girlfriend’s mouth hangs open. At first, that’s her only reaction. It’s the only thing she manages to do when faced with such a mental conundrum. 

Still in bed, Bayley waits for something more. She waits for the anger, for the upset, for the sadness. Judging by the look on Sasha’s face, something is on the tip of her tongue. Something is ready to slip from her lips. Something more than the basic, disbelieving chuckle that she hears from across the room. The solemn chuckle that echoes between the grey walls of the mercenary’s apartment where Bayley has been happily spending her days. The pissed-off chuckle that chills the brunette to the core as she swallows hard through a dry throat.

And, for a moment, that “something more” comes in the form of squinted eyes and an accusing “You━” that ball Sasha’s hands into fists. Only for a moment, though. That’s where it ends, an exhale cutting her rebuttal short as her face contorts into that of forced acceptance. Deception, more like.

“No, you know what? Like I said, it’s fine. I don’t know why I… nevermind,” Sasha stresses, turning away and waving a hand in the air. “I’m going down to the shop. I’ll be back in a few hours.”

“Sash, wait,” her partner tries.

“Hm?” 

It’s clear that the mercenary is trying her best not to blow a gasket, not even bothering to turn around to face her girlfriend whose eyes plead with Sasha to remain calm. Her puppy-dog look doesn’t work this time.

“Can’t we talk about this _before_ you go?”

Again, the other woman’s mouth opens. A dumbfoundedness in how to respond. It’s such a loaded request, and it’s particularly one that she can’t offer a solution to right now. Not when her mind is going a million miles per hour, not when she’s so furious about everything and anything. Partly because she’s never been good at dealing with her emotions, but also due to the fact that she’s been pouring her heart out to Bayley while the brunette has been picking and choosing what to own up to. It hurts. The mercenary doesn’t even know _how_ to talk about it, yet. 

Her head shakes as she peers over her shoulder. 

“There’s nothing to talk about right now.”

Behind her, Bayley looks heartbroken with her shoulders slumping. Her hands lay motionless in her lap.

“I’ll see you tonight, babe,” it’s hardly full of emotion, the pet-name hollow as Sasha walks away from the bedroom’s threshold.

Left alone, the brunette’s eyes well up with tears once she hears the front door all but slam shut. She takes solid breaths, closing her eyes and rubbing at her face until she needs to blink the static-formed shapes away from her vision. Then, she flops back onto the pillow and brings her hands to her face once more. A groan follows, muffled yet sharing her self-directed annoyance with the empty apartment. 

* * *

FOUR HOURS LATER

* * *

The click of the apartment’s door opening steals Bayley’s attention away from the quiet TV. She doesn’t move, nor does she react much when she sees the mercenary slipping side. Not much aside from a timid, sad grin. A slanted one, at that.

“Hey,” the slight expression is accompanied by a small welcome. 

“Hey.”

They can both hear the hurt in Sasha’s voice, though she manages to return the greeting with a similar, diluted smile. Locking the door behind her, her tired body is dragged over to the couch where she plops down on the cushion next to her girlfriend. Bayley doesn’t turn to her, instead staring straight ahead at the TV. 

“Can we talk now?” the brunette’s voice is monotone.

She licks her lips, “Yeah, we can talk.”

After hours of lounging on the couch and being primarily stuck in her head, Bayley finds it hard to lift her arm so she can find the remote and shut the TV off. Once she manages, her hand falls back into her lap and she shifts her jaw. 

Next to her, Sasha feels guilty for the way the other woman will hardly turn in her direction. Bayley hasn’t even side-eyed her, or attempted to make major eye contact. With that, the mercenary knows she’s fucked up. Her jaw clenches. 

“Look, I know I messed up by leaving before talking things through,” Sasha says with sincerity, glancing at her partner. “It’s a bad habit I grew into when I was younger. A family trait, kinda,” she gives it a weak laugh. “I’m trying to get out of it for you, because I really _don’t_ want to keep messing up, but sometimes I just…” a sigh ends her explanation. “It’s better if I cool off before I say something, you know?”

“You always have the option of walking away, Sasha,” Bayley finally turns to her. “I’m not forcing you to talk to me━ever━but I guess I’m just wishing that’d be your choice.”

“I know,” she nods. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay.”

There’s a beat of silence that flows between them, but Sasha knows the conversation isn’t over. They both do. Like before, Sasha is first to break the tension.

“If it’s still on the table, can I hear the explanation of why you two split?”

“Not if it’s going to bother you,” Bayley says with seriousness, looking at her. “I want to be honest with you, but, to me, it’s a piece of my past. It doesn’t matter,” the brunette shrugs one shoulder. “It shouldn’t matter to you, either.”

“It does,” the reply is immediate. “I’m sorry, but it does.”

“Why?” the abrupt question is full of pleas, almost begging Sasha to reconsider. 

“Insecurities,” she sounds unsure of her own answer, like it’s a question. “Who’s to say she’s not better than I am, or more right for you?”

 _“I’m_ to say,” the brunette is stern. “I’m with _you,_ aren’t I? Not her. I’m currently living across the country with _you._ This is where I want to be.” 

There’s a pause, then Sasha asks, “Why’d you two break up?”

“Sash━”

“Please,” the mercenary looks at her with sparkling eyes, sounding desperate. “I just need to know.”

Bayley exhales through her nostrils, relenting, “She cheated on me.”

Her partner’s shoulders ease downwards, lips parting.

“I blamed myself for the longest time,” the brunette confesses. “Actually, I still kinda do,” she admits, fiddling with her fingers in her lap.

“She’s the one who made the choice to cheat.”

“I’m not saying she didn’t do something stupid,” Bayley shakes her head. “I just can’t help but blame myself for giving her the push to do it.”

Sasha keeps her comments to herself.

“I accepted stunt position after stunt position. I’d get home and immediately get ready for the track, and I hardly saw her. Part of me knew she deserved better than that. I could tell we were hurting each other, especially since we argued whenever I _did_ see her.”

No response.

“So, eventually, she found someone who treated her better than I did,” sad eyes look at Sasha, the woman’s mouth curving into a bittersweet smile. “She found someone more right for her. A little over a year ago, she married him.”

The mercenary’s eyes lower, feeling somewhat embarrassed. Ashamed that she’d make her girlfriend relive what must’ve been a hurtful situation. She’s sure that there’s a scar from Carmella’s betrayal, and she just forced Bayley to poke at it for her own consolation. Sasha internally kicks herself, wishing to roll her eyes at her own stupidity. 

“Now, who’s to say someone else isn’t better for _you?”_ Bayley interrupts her self-loathing, mildly upset by the underlying accusation within Sasha’s previous question. 

“Babe, that’s not…”

Her response trails off, never finishing as the brunette waits. When nothing else comes, Bayley finally grows fed up. Tiredly so, shrugging tightly before partly laughing.

“What?”

Sasha looks at her with a tilted head, “That’s not possible.”

The other woman breathes out, scratching the back of her neck. On the other cushion, Sasha feels even more guilty for everything. She runs a hand through her hair, then rubs her eyes before her gaze bores into Bayley’s temple. 

“I’m sorry,” she says. “Again.”

“For?”

“Assuming,” the answer is smooth, genuine. “Thinking your current relationship with me competes against your past relationship with her. I shouldn’t have guessed it was all happy-go-lucky.”

“You shouldn’t have,” Bayley confirms, “but I get it. I doubt I’d have much fun learning about your exes.”

Sasha raises her eyebrows. 

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you earlier,” after a second or two, the brunette apologizes. “About her being pretty much my manager. It slipped my mind. Nowadays, it’s strictly business. I tend to forget my past with her.”

She huffs, “We’ll deal with it.”

“That doesn’t sound very convincing.”

At Bayley’s nervous smirk, Sasha laughs a bit before shaking her head to free herself of the slight comedy. Her lower lip is taken between her teeth, nibbling at her skin with an estranged sadness that she’s been harping on all day. She knows she has to say something, whether or not she wants to bring it up. It’ll be better for them, in the long run. 

“I just don’t get why I’ve been trying to be honest with you about _everything,_ but you couldn’t give me this one thing,” Sasha sounds hurt again. “I’m not mad, I promise. I’m confused, I guess. I get it’s not a big deal to you, but at some point you have to wonder if something is just generally a big deal, or at least a big deal to me. You know, your girlfriend.” 

“You’re right,” Bayley whispers. “I don’t have an answer as to why I didn’t think that way. Maybe I’m still stuck in this whole, dream-state of wishing everything was… happy, all the time. I can sometimes be too carefree, I’ve been told. I know it’s not always a good thing,” she bows her head. “Guess we both have bad habits to work on.”

Sasha grants her sad smile. It’s followed by scooting closer on the couch, moving along the cushion until she can get Bayley to look at her through the close proximity. The brunette’s thigh moves against her leg, her eyes curiously floating down to Sasha’s lips as she can feel the woman’s breath on her. The mercenary giggles quietly, then licks her lips. 

“You’re still my favorite, Softy,” she moves her forehead to Bayley’s, resting there. “It’s nice knowing that I’m not the only one in this relationship with issues,” her smirk from earlier reappears, getting her girlfriend to chuckle. 

“Well, if it makes you feel any better about not knowing, she only texted me today because I texted her, first,” Bayley says, knowing full well how Sasha is going to take it.

“Um,” she narrows her eyes, making a face, “and how would that make me feel better?”

The brunette steals her smirk, rubbing her lips together while backing up to look at the other woman. 

“I told you this is where I want to be,” the whisper comes with a tender, lovestruck smile. “I told her this is where I want to be, too.”

“Meaning…?”

“You said you’re never going to let me leave your side now,” the navigator plays coy. “I figured we could put that to the test.”

Sasha’s lips curve into a growing smile, moving an inch closer until she’s practically in the other woman’s lap.

“I wanted to surprise you, but then everything got so tangled,” a sigh breaks her next statement. “But, if you’re okay with it…” she grins gently.

“I’m _more_ than okay with that,” Sasha beams, taking Bayley’s hand, “but what about your job, babe? What about your place back in L.A., and all of your stuff?”

“I’ll go and pack up my things, then I’ll be back before you know it.”

“No,” it’s given a curt laugh, shaking her head. “I’m _definitely_ coming with you.”

“Why?” she’s suspicious, yet knowing.

“I just want to see what all the fuss is about. Why you lived there for so long, and… whatever else.”

The other woman squints.

“Don’t give me that look, Bay,” she rolls her eyes before relenting. “Fine, alright, I don’t care whether or not you and this Carmella are strictly business partners, nowadays. I’m going with you,” she leans closer, suddenly feeling the heat between them. “Your eyes are going to stay on me.” 

It’s punctuated by a deep kiss, Bayley having to breathe through her nose when she feels the need to sigh. Sasha feels the same, already cupping her girlfriend’s jaw and pressing closer. Before they can fully give in, however, the brunette finds the wherewithal to mutter her last, muffled response. 

“Wouldn’t have it any other way.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We stan good communication. I know the last thing y'all probably wanted to see for the last Baysha one-shot in this series (at least momentarily, I dunno) was an argument, but for the longest time I wanted to show Sasha's frustration with Bayley not necessarily being mutual with this whole "open your heart" thing. There *is* a notion of being too carefree, and here we see Bayley somewhat picking and choosing what she shares, whereas Sasha is fully just... giving herself to Bayley. No one is perfect, and that's something I'm trying to reinforce. Especially moving forward as we begin to see Charlynch in some domestic one-shots.
> 
> So that brings me to what I'll say next: I don't know when, but I'm going to start working on Charlynch's series of one-shots. For now, Baysha is happily spending their days in Sasha's apartment. I'm so happy for them. They've come so far in a short amount of time, and I hope to revisit their relationship sooner rather than later.
> 
> As for my life: I'm still dealing with an assload (more and more keeps piling on, it's ridiculous, but alas 'tis life). What I'll say, though... I have a valid reasoning for not writing as much, or being on social media as much, and that's because when I had my anxiety attack while on my laptop/at my desk, my mind connected the attack with being on the computer. So, now, whenever I sit down to type anything for longer than fifteen minutes at a time, I begin feeling like I'm suffocating again. I'm working on fixing it; I've never been the best at self-directed cognitive therapy, but it's getting better! Anyway, that's why things have been MUCH SLOWER than usual. Even with my medication. 
> 
> That's enough about that. I hope y'all are doing well, I hope you're still playing around within this universe and rereading things when you so feel like it. Thanks for all the love you've given me over the course of this universe unfolding. You're the best beans. Have a nice day, my friends.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here marks the official start of Volume II, A.K.A. Charlynch's adventures.

VOLUME II . . . STEP 1

* * *

TWO MONTHS SINCE THE ISLAND

* * *

Her palm pushes down against the knife’s back with focus. Precisely cutting each vegetable with skilled hands before using the sharp utensil’s side to scrape the chopped pieces from the wooden board. She does it with natural motions, like she’s done it plenty of times before — like she’s _had_ the time to do it plenty of times before.

Behind her, Charlotte watches in silence from where she sits on the couch’s edge. Looking up from her laptop’s screen, she admires her wife’s dedication while preparing their dinner. There’s frequency — _normalcy_ — in the scene, too; her watching Becky whip up a spur-the-moment meal while she does some “homework” on her computer. It’s become their usual, their standard, and she doesn’t mind. Despite the assortment of occasions where she fought against Becky’s insistence that she cooks, instead, Charlotte has gotten used to being the second best chef in their relationship.

Okay, so she’s not really a chef at all. In fact, the whole reason the treasure hunter insists on cooking for them is because Charlotte has burnt plenty of foods in the process of becoming the “ideal wife.” Becky disagreed, each time.

 _“Charlotte, we ate only granola bars for days together,”_ she wore a sheepish smile. _“I could be eatin’ dirt by your side, lass. I wouldn’t mind it.”_

Of course, it didn’t come without the blonde’s rebuttal.

_“Did you just compare my cooking to dirt?”_

Surprisingly — and somewhat to the historian’s annoyance — Becky’s vow to be honest didn’t cease. Albeit, it came through a toothy, “yikes” face that countered Charlotte’s pointed stare.

_“It’s… flavorful dirt.”_

Still, despite the retort and the blonde’s ensuing groan, the couple agreed that Becky could take a turn at cooking dinner one night. Then, that “one night” turned into multiple occasions, and quickly a permanent solution — much to Charlotte’s continuing annoyance.

On the contrary, it’s always a sight to behold when her wildfire, rough-around-the-edges wife enjoys herself a little too much in the kitchen. From humming, to full-on singing an old tune coming through the radio static, and not to mention the occasional, up-in-the-air pancake flip to display finesse. It’s a sequence that Charlotte holds near and dear to her heart.

Except, this evening is different. It’s nerve-wracking and quiet, however the historian finds her counterpart’s stirred nature adorable. More specifically, she finds it adorable because of what it’s a result of.

“You’re a little quiet over there, Becks.”

Her soft, knowing voice rings in the redhead’s ear. Becky peers over her shoulder before making a grumpy sound, like she’s halfway pouting but also silently proclaiming that she’s upset with Charlotte.

“Come on,” the blonde coos from where she stays perched on the couch cushion. “What’s up?”

“You know what’s up,” the reply is quick, stiff and coiled up tightly, as if she’s holding her breath. “You damn well know what’s up,” it’s added beneath her breath, nervousness found within.

A tiny grin creeps onto the blonde’s face, though she instantly wipes it away. 

Truthfully, she does know what’s up. Right when she saw her father’s email asking if she’s still heading back to the States to visit, she knew what Becky’s reaction would be. Quite frankly, she can’t blame her. Nonetheless, her wife’s utter dumbfoundedness and sudden realization is a tad more comical than she’d like to admit.

 _“So… I’d planned on going back to the States in a few weeks,”_ she tiptoed around the absolute truth. _“Just a quick trip.”_

 _“Yeah?”_ a smile appeared over Becky’s shoulder. _“What for?”_

_“To visit my dad.”_

Becky’s hand stilled against the knife she was using to cut another vegetable.

_“I’d like for you to meet him.”_

Then, there was complete silence. She could practically hear the redhead’s breathing stop. The sole, following response from the woman was raised eyebrows and a confused, open mouth once she turned around. At that moment, Charlotte couldn’t help but bark out a laugh — something that Becky didn’t take too kindly to when she frowned and twisted back to the counter, similar to now.

“Honestly, I didn’t think it’d affect you this much,” it’s spoken through a giggle she can’t suppress, getting Becky to whip around with bug eyes.

“Charlie, you never even mentioned your father. For all I knew, you could’ve had no family. You could’ve been like me,” she rambles. “Now, suddenly, you have a dad.”

“‘Suddenly,’” the historian shoots her a silly grin from the couch. “I just… never thought it was important I bring him up. He was never imperative to the conversation, I guess. I don’t exactly live close to him, or talk to him on a daily basis.”

“I’ve never heard you talk to him once!” Becky’s eyes go wide again, as if they’re trying to fall from her head. “Not until today when, out of nowhere, you say I should join you for this visit. Does _he_ know _I_ exist?”

A blue-green gaze drifts off to the side, jaw slack.

“Oh my God, he’s going to hate me,” the treasure hunter mutters, her wife’s tailing silence unsettling. “Charlotte… he really is, isn’t he?”

“Okay, no,” through a huff, she relents with a breathy laugh. “He’s going to love you, alright? He just may or may not be so keen on the idea that I got married without telling him. Or that I eloped with someone he doesn’t even know.”

Becky stares at her.

“Or that I married a woman,” Charlotte muses beneath her breath.

“Well, that’s just peachy.”

“We’ll just explain to him━”

“‘We’?” she all but chokes out. “No, no, no, Your Majesty, the whole married-without-a-word thing? That’s your mistake,” it’s given with a chuckle. “You’re handling that conversation on your own.”

“What, why? What happened to teamwork?” the blonde hears her own, scratchy plea and desperation. “You can’t throw me to the wolves. I’m your wife.”

“Don’t pull rank!” Charlotte rolls her eyes at Becky’s rebuttal, a wooden spoon pointed in her direction. “You should’ve told him before it happened. At the very least, you should’ve told me he existed, or that you two speak casually. I would’ve suggested, ‘Hey, sweetie, why don’t we mention it to your father before gettin’ hitched?’ but you didn’t give me that chance, did ya?”

“Would you have told _your_ parents?” through an arched eyebrow, the tables are turned on Becky who lifts her arms in a baffled motion.

“Yes!”

The blonde deadpans, eyes narrowing.

“I was never afraid of surprising them with anything spur-the-moment. Back then, disappointment was like a thing between us. Both give and take!” her arms cross, spoon in hand. “In fact, they might’ve been impressed.”

Once she’s finished practically talking to herself, she turns back to the countertop. Behind her, the historian’s jaw shifts before she hangs her head between her clasped hands, ending with running her fingers through her hair.

Charlotte sighs, groaning, “Fine, I’ll tell him before we go there. At least, then, I can choose whether or not to actually bring you with me.”

There’s a scoff.

“You’re going to tell him over the phone?” 

The hunter’s judgmental tone earns a warning look once she’s turned around to face the blonde once more. The Irish woman seals her lips.

“Good idea, love,” she faces away again. “But I do want to go with you, even if he doesn’t want to meet me. I want to see where you grew up. All this time, we’ve been focusing on my past━my memories and everything else━yet we’ve hardly touched upon where you came from. Before your esteemed education,” Becky smirks to herself, her wife snickering. “So, I’m on board.”

“Whatever you’d like, baby,” the historian speaks cutely. “Just remember who I am now, as opposed to who I used to be.”

“That doesn’t sound so promising.”

“Trust me, it’s not,” she watches Becky turn back to her.

A newer, teasing smirk appears, “I married the mean girl, didn’t I?” 

Similar to before, a scathing look is thrown in her direction. Though, this time, the redhead laughs fully while turning to finish up their dinner’s preparation.

“I _so_ married the mean girl.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To answer that (probably) forming question immediately: No, we won't be seeing their visit with Ric. Truthfully, there's no big reason other than the fact that I don't want to write it, lmao. I mean... put it this way: I have better things planned. But I'm sure their visit would go something along the lines of Becky and Ric hitting it off before he asks what Becky does for a living and Charlotte is amused to hear Becky call herself a "collector, of sorts." 
> 
> Okay, so I've been away for a bit (I know, sorry). I'm still working on these ideas little by little. I'm now in the midst of schoolwork, too, so oddly enough that's making me write a smidgen more because I'm already in that focused mindset. Otherwise, I'm just watching WWE and enjoying this new version of Bayley and Sasha, as well as Charlynch's (always) complicated relationship. 
> 
> Hope you're all well. Hope you're all missing this universe as much as I am!

**Author's Note:**

> Always available for comments/chit-chat @ "wwe-charlie" on Tumblr.


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